


Imperius

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-08
Updated: 2006-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Draco holds Rosmerta under a spell, there is more to her relationship with another Malfoy than meets the eye.</p><p>8,700 words. NC-17. Dub-con, sort of. For hp_springsmut. February 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imperius

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to islandsmoke and rexluscus for the beta work.

_"Imperio!"_

It was like wind, Narcissa decided as the spell hit her – a soft breeze like the sea-salty air of the French Riviera, brushing against her cheek and down her back, penetrating her mind like a pleasant song. Whispered voices crept up her spine, but they didn't alarm or frighten her. They soothed, stroked, insinuated, until she couldn't help but obey them, a sweet smile on her face as she did so, and when she realised what it was they were telling her to do, the smile gave way to a deep blush, as she bit her lower lip and closed her eyes.

_Ride me_, the whispered voices purred in her head, and she grasped her lover firmly by the hips, feeling the thrill of naked flesh against her own, of smooth thighs straddling and thrusting against her, over and over again. The warm body clutched at her shoulders and pressed into her hipbone where it jutted up just enough to give friction. Blonde-grey curls cascaded over her lover's shoulders and breasts, glinting in the light streaming through the open window as her face took on a look of relaxed pleasure.

Flat on her back, her knees raised just enough to cradle her lover from behind, Narcissa could only watch in awe, her fingers digging into hips and urging the body above her forward, faster, oh god. "_Ride me_," she heard herself whisper, and she barely had a chance to be appalled, and to wonder where on earth those words had come from, before the soft gasps above her deepened into throaty moans, followed by the full-body shudder of her lover's orgasm.

It was intoxicating, that spell. She knew in the back of her mind that she shouldn't be doing this, that she was a married woman, a mother, and a highly-regarded pillar of propriety in most social circles. None of that mattered, however, when she was under that spell, and as those long ringlets trailed down her breasts and stomach, following full lips and a honeyed tongue down, down, _ohdon'tstop_, Narcissa could only lie helpless, desire warring with shame in her mind and body.

She had to get out. She had to stop the power of the spell. She had to fight back. But first, she had to surrender.

~~~~~

It should never have happened.

She had only been trying to help her son, to set up a contact in Hogsmeade that would enable him to carry out his plan. He was only sixteen years old! She would never understand how her life – how all of their lives – had ended up this way, with a husband in prison, a sister on the run, and the Dark Lord taking out his vengeance on her only child. There was no way Draco could handle this assignment on his own. He would fail, and the Dark Lord would kill him for it. This much Narcissa knew for certain, and it made her stomach shred and her jaw ache every time she thought of it. _My son_.

Severus would help; she had seen to that, and it was a comfort. That would only happen at the last minute, though, and Draco needed help _now_. The Dark Lord expected certain things, and Draco would not be able to accomplish them all himself.

"_No_, Mother, I don't need your help," the boy had insisted, scowling at her the way he used to when he was a child, and the house-elf misplaced his toys.

"I know you don't, darling, but I'm still going with you – you shouldn't be in that dirty pub by yourself, it will arouse suspicions."

"No it _won't_, Mother, I told you – I go in there all the time on Hogsmeade weekends."

"Well, I wish you wouldn't, Draco, that place is positively filthy. But that aside, how will you explain being in there by yourself on a Tuesday evening in August?"

"I'll– think of something."

Narcissa had sighed, trying her best to remain calm and not burst into tears in front of Draco the way she had in front of Severus. "Draco," she began, "I will only tell you this one more time: this is not a joke, and this is _not_ the time to improvise!" Her voice wavered, but she took a deep breath and continued. "The Dark Lord is livid at your father, you know – _that _is why he's asked you to do this. Now, I have ensured that you shall have help with the task, but you must also take responsibility yourself!" There they were, those awful tears. _Dammit_. "If anything were to happen to you–"

"Shh, Mother, I know. I'll be all right, just–"

"This will be a lot easier if you would stop acting like your father and accept help when it is offered to you!" She turned to the side to dab at her eyes, hoping Draco would not notice. "Now, I am going with you tonight, and that's final. That barmaid's _attitude_ is legendary – you leave her to me. When she's suitably distracted, you may cast the spell."

"Mother, really, I think it would be best if you didn't get involved."

Famous last words, weren't they? It was never supposed to happen, but now that it had, who should she blame – Lucius for not being there himself to help? The Dark Lord, for daring to give Draco this assignment? Or could she blame _that barmaid_, the immoral vixen who sauntered around that pub with her robes wide open and her blouse too low? Yes, that would do. She could blame the barmaid.

_Rosmerta_.

~~~~~

_Madam_ Rosmerta, that's how she introduced herself. Narcissa had seen her at Ministry functions before, offering her hand and laughing merrily to anyone who wandered by.

When, where, and _why_ she ever took on that ridiculous moniker was beyond Narcissa's comprehension. What did the _madam_ of the name connote? Lust, desire, and illicit gain, to be sure, but also power, privilege, and nobility. A whore hoping for aristocratic robes, was that the meaning of the name? _Madam_ Rosmerta, indeed. She had no such social position. She was simply _Rosmerta_, that wench who served ale to cretins, that old spinster with the hips who laughed and flirted shamelessly with drunken men every night. That aging, flaccid, over-rouged harlot who could have _Narcissa Malfoy_ on her back in seconds.

It was shameful.

But Narcissa didn't know that yet, not that first night, when she accompanied Draco to the Three Broomsticks and pushed open the door, pulling her cloak around her shoulders with her free hand. She kept her head lowered, hoping to escape notice, her eyes furtively darting around the room for her quarry. Ah, of course: at the bar. She raised her head and appraised the woman.

Long, grey-blonde curls hung down her back, hiding the flesh left bare by the low-backed blouse she wore. No robes, not that night; Narcissa sneered at the indecency of that. When the woman swivelled her head to laugh, her hair bounced off her shoulders and Narcissa could see pale skin, light and soft, seeping through from under that blouse. If she was honest with herself later, she would recall that her breath hitched at the sight, but no; there was no need for honesty that damning.

The bar was like the third ring of hell, as far as Narcissa was concerned. She glanced around at the scattered tables, the mugs of ale, and the nondescript patrons. _Hogsmeade_. It was a peasant village, and the very fact that the Dark Lord had sent Draco here to do his bidding proved just how furious he was with Lucius. Neither she nor Draco could afford to get this wrong.

_Lucius_. She wrinkled her nose as her eyes took in the room. Bella said that going to prison was a sign of true loyalty to the cause, but Bella's priorities had always been skewed. More to the point, it wasn't Bella's husband wasting away in Azkaban because of his own stupidity; it wasn't her family shamed or her son punished.

"Well, well, well, the _Malfoy_ family." A woman's voice interrupted her thoughts, and Narcissa turned towards the bar. "Sure don't see the likes of _you_ in here too often." The woman's blue eyes were cold as she glared at Narcissa and, behind her, Draco.

"Is our money no good here, love?" Draco drawled, and Narcissa's head snapped towards him. He sauntered over to the bar before Narcissa could stop him, leaning in with a casual grace. "How's my favourite barmaid?" he purred.

The woman's eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed. "You don't mean me, do you, Draco?" she asked with a sugary smile, biting her lower lip and causing Narcissa's own lips to part a little bit for lack of air. The woman paused for another second, then just as Draco was preparing to coo a response, she slammed her palms down on the bar. "Because I _own_ this fine establishment, and probably make more money at it than your Mummy here does, now that _Daddy's_ locked up, so you can take your patronising fucking self back out that door, and find a real _barmaid_ that will put up with you." She swept a strand of hair out of her eyes and stepped back, still glaring at him. "And that won't be an easy task in this town."

Draco's mouth fell open and Narcissa pushed him out of the way, advancing towards the bar.

"How dare you." She tossed her hood back and shook out her blonde hair. "I'll have this _establishment_ – is that what you call it?" She sniffed, glancing around with a sneer on her lips – "shut down in a heartbeat if you don't apologise to my son."

She expected the woman to shout back, as she had to Draco, and was stunned at the silence that hung thickly in the air.

That was it, in hindsight – that was the moment.

In that span of seconds, minutes, _days_ – time stopped. The silence penetrated Narcissa's robes, scratching at her skin and irritating her lungs as they tried to work, tried to bring fresh oxygen inside of her, tried to keep her alive. The woman was looking at her. Time had stopped, and the woman was looking at her, and she couldn't breathe properly.

"_Mother_." Draco's warning voice at her side clicked time back into motion again. She turned to face him and saw his pleading eyes gazing back, with that intensity he had inherited from Lucius.

"Why don't you wait outside, young Mr. Malfoy," Rosmerta said, her eyes burning into Narcissa. "I'd like a word with your mother."

Draco turned his back to the bar, his voice a fierce whisper in Narcissa's ear. "You're ruining everything, Mother! Stop it, I can do this by myself." His lips barely moved, but his eyes were alight with fury when he stepped back to glare at her.

But Narcissa couldn't leave. Not yet. "Wait for me outside, Draco," she said, lifting her chin, "or your father will hear about your impertinence." She let her gaze rest on him just long enough to let him know that what his father knew, the Dark Lord would know as well, and allowed herself a small smile when a curtain of fear fell across his face.

He threw his shoulders back and turned again to face the _barmaid_, flashing a plastic grin. "Another time, then?" he drawled, tapping his fingers on the bar and winking, before pulling his cloak around himself and stalking outside.

Narcissa's eyes flew back to the woman behind the bar, ready for a renewed fight, but to her surprise, the woman wasn't looking at Draco's retreating back; she was looking straight at Narcissa.

"Your son isn't welcome here," the woman began in a soft voice. "But you are."

"What on earth are you–"

"I know who you are," interrupted the woman – _Rosmerta_ – her features relaxing as her anger seemed to evaporate. "I've seen you before, you know – in town, at functions."

Narcissa stared at her.

"You always look so very… pained," she continued, arching an eyebrow. "Unhappy."

"I beg your pardon!" Narcissa felt her face heat. "There is no reason for me to stand here listening to this–"

Rosmerta leaned in close, her elbows resting on the bar. "I could make you happy," she whispered, her eyes dropping suggestively, then rising again to take in Narcissa's entire body.

A shiver rattled Narcissa's bones at those words, running over her skin from her toes to her fingertips, though she didn't know why. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about," she huffed, hating the way her voice shook.

"Come back sometime," breathed Rosmerta, straightening up and turning her attention to a stack of glasses under the bar that needed drying. "Without your brat," she added, smiling. "We'll have a drink."

There was no appropriate response to any of this, or none that Narcissa could conjure at that moment. The idea of friendship with a woman like this was out of the question. _Drinking_ together was a vulgar thought. Pursuing happiness with a Hogsmeade barmaid was beyond laughable.

But as Narcissa pulled her hood back up over her head and moved swiftly towards the door, she thought neither of friendship nor of drinking, but only of the way her skin had tingled at the mention of _happiness_, and the way her blood had warmed in ways it hadn't in years at the thought of hearing Rosmerta's low voice utter those words to her again.

_I could make you happy_.

No, she couldn't. Narcissa grabbed Draco by the sleeve and hauled him down the street. It was impossible, she thought to herself as they Apparated back home.

Nobody could.

~~~~~

Draco was furious, naturally, and Narcissa knew without asking that he had returned to that bar later, by himself, and that he must have succeeded in casting the spell because he refused to tell her any more about it. When pressed, he only assured her that he had worked his way into the barmaid's good graces after all, and that all would proceed according to plan. She need not worry, he insisted. He knew what he was doing.

She never believed him when he said that – especially not since his father had told her the same thing one day, and then landed in Azkaban twelve hours later.

There was nothing she could do but seek out that bar again herself, once Draco had returned to school, and ensure through the trademark Malfoy stealth that the plans were indeed going smoothly, and that the barmaid would indeed _submit_. It had nothing to do with the sultry invitation the woman had issued at their last meeting, nor the cut of her blouse, nor the swell of her chest, nor the way the dim light of the place caught her hair when she moved. No, Narcissa only returned that night to help Draco.

She had to believe that, or none of what happened there could make any sense. It still didn't, it couldn't – _it was shameful_ – but she had to believe she didn't go there _looking for it_.

"Drink?" the woman asked when Narcissa appeared at the bar, hooded and cloaked as usual, barely allowing her grey eyes to meet the bright blue ones gazing at her.

"You aren't throwing me out?" Narcissa asked quietly, and the other woman paused.

"I told you that you were welcome here, didn't I?" Her voice, _god_. It wasn't right, it wasn't a patron-client voice at all; it was low and husky and through some trick of magic it sounded as though it was whispering straight into Narcissa's mind and body – stressing, insinuating, encouraging.

"You did," she replied, still failing to meet Rosmerta's eyes. "Wine would be lovely. Whatever you have."

"Well. The day a Malfoy accepts whatever's offered, rather than demanding the finest – not a day I ever thought I'd see."

Narcissa jerked her head up.

"Ah, there you are. Thought that might get you to look at me."

Those eyes could not be human, Narcissa couldn't help but think as she gazed into them, drowning by the second. They were too vast, open and inviting as they enveloped her and drew her in. She felt like she was falling head-first, surrounded by warmth and sun and the pools of beauty in those goddamned _eyes_.

Stop. This was ridiculous. It was magic – it had to be.

"Narcissa," the voice whispered, and she couldn't even bother to be affronted by the uninvited use of her first name. She was staring, she knew she was, and she couldn't stop. Rosmerta dropped her voice even lower, leaning across the bar in a way that made her blouse fall lower down her chest. "Come with me, love," she breathed, eyes darting around the bar. "Fifteen minutes – no one will miss us."

Something rattled Narcissa back to reality at that, and she tore her eyes away. "Excuse me?" she managed. "I– don't know _what_ you are–"

"Yes, you do. Come."

"I– no. It's not possible for me to–" She stared down at the bar, feeling her face flush. This was preposterous; she wasn't even sure what they were talking about. All she knew was that if she followed wherever this woman wanted to lead her, there would be flesh, and ruby lips, and swollen cleavage, and she would rather drown a blissful death in the sensation of it than walk away.

"Look at me," Rosmerta ordered her quietly, and she obeyed. A smile lit Rosmerta's face, soft and welcoming. "You are lovely, aren't you?" she whispered.

"Yes," Narcissa answered, then bit her lip.

"_Yes_," repeated Rosmerta. "Come with me."

It was pure insanity. She was _Narcissa Malfoy_, and there was no reason for her to even _consider_ following this woman wherever she intended to go, be it for fifteen minutes or for one second. There was no reason to do it, but at that moment Narcissa couldn't think of a reason not to, either. "No," she said at last, forcing her words to sound definitive. "That won't be necessary."

Rosmerta nodded, backing away from the edge of the bar and taking her cleavage with her, as Narcissa exhaled. They gazed at each other for another long minute, Narcissa's mind clouded with the scent of ale and vanilla and just a dab of something floral on that smooth, pale neck, before Rosmerta spoke again. "What if I told you _one word_ that would convince you that I want you. Would you come then?"

A sting of cold air hit Narcissa and shot down her spine at the words, and every part of her brain shouted affronted hexes at the brazenness of this proposition. "_Yes_," she answered before clamping her mouth shut over the word she had never meant to say.

"Good." Rosmerta moved close again, leaning forward and looking deep into her eyes. The harsh whisper of the single word was out of her mouth before Narcissa could even register what was happening.

"_Imperio_."

~~~~~

After that, Narcissa was finished. There was no fighting the Imperius curse – she knew that. With that single word, Narcissa became a prisoner to the desires of an ale-swigging, plebeian woman, but resistance was not an option. The curse washed over her like a gentle wave, breaking through her barriers and drenching her in warmth. It was liberating, the way her walls collapsed around her as Rosmerta took her hand and led her to the back of the pub, then up a narrow staircase. _Let her in_, Narcissa's mind called softly. _Let her_.

It was tart make-up, Narcissa had thought at first, frowning at the red-light district advertised on the woman's face, but that was before she had kissed those lips, touched that cheek, and seen those eyes close in quiet acquiescence. That's when she realised that the make-up was minimal, that it was Rosmerta's natural glow that highlighted her features so – rouging her cheekbones, darkening her lashes, and pulsing red-hot lust through her lips.

Or maybe it was none of that – nobody blurred perception and reality for Narcissa more than Rosmerta did.

"And I thought you had sisters," Rosmerta teased her that night, carefully unbuttoning her blouse and pushing it from her shoulders to reveal large, perfect breasts. Her voice dropped to that low purr. "But you look at me like you've never seen these on another woman before."

Narcissa couldn't answer; she found she could only step forward, her eyes never leaving the other woman's heaving chest. She lifted a hand and touched it to the skin of the smooth collarbone shyly, experimentally, raising her gaze to meet Rosmerta's. She wasn't able to move further than that, she found, and silently thanked Rosmerta when the woman's own hand rose and covered Narcissa's, guiding it down her chest.

"Like this," she instructed in a low whisper, moving Narcissa's fingers slowly across one breast. She savoured the softness of the skin, so smooth and intimate – a place she wasn't supposed to want to touch this way on another woman. When soft moans escaped Rosmerta's lips, Narcissa became bolder, sweeping her palm over one full breast and cupping it from underneath, allowing her thumb to brush over the peaked, darkened nipple. Rosmerta gasped and grabbed Narcissa's wrist, holding her hand in place.

They both stood perfectly still, drawing shaky breaths as their eyes locked. That fog welled up in Narcissa's mind, willing her forward, whispering at her to continue, _forcing_ her to gaze into Rosmerta's eyes and sweep her thumb one more time over the woman's swollen breast. She couldn't deny the impulse even if she wanted to. It was Imperius.

Rosmerta shuddered. "You're under my spell, love," she whispered. "Don't try to fight it."

The woman licked her lips and as Narcissa watched, she felt herself surrender. There was no fighting the curse, not for someone like her; she wasn't strong enough. She knew in the back of her clouded mind that this was _wrong_, that she had to be loyal to her husband, and if she couldn't be loyal to her husband then she needed at least to betray him with a _cock_, not with the heaving chest and petal-smooth skin displayed before her now, but there was no resisting the power of the curse, she knew that. There was no resisting the power of this woman.

"Shh," that husky voice whispered as deft fingers unclasped her robe and began unbuttoning the blouse underneath. "I've got you."

Narcissa trembled as her clothing fell to the floor and soft hands glided up her back, pulling her close. When her small breasts met the gorgeous swell of Rosmerta's chest, one nipple brushing over the other woman's, Narcissa began to weep, and letting the mist fill her mind and senses completely, she sank down onto the bed, pulling Rosmerta – _beautiful, beautiful Rosmerta_ – down with her.

~~~~~

It was slow, that first time, all hands and breath and smooth skin and kisses that swallowed her. It wasn't fifteen minutes, either, and that was certain – Rosmerta stayed with her all night, shadows slicing the moonbeams that poured in the window and across their bodies entwined on the bed. Narcissa lay back, letting Rosmerta roam over her body, tasting and licking everywhere her mouth could reach, a relentless assault on Narcissa's senses that left her writhing with pleasure against the cool sheets.

They didn't speak. A small gasp escaped Narcissa's mouth when the other woman's lips closed over a nipple, tongue rolling gently across the peak until Narcissa felt the pressure between her legs rise to an almost unbearable level, as though the two areas of her body were linked by the same electric current. Her hips surged forward, desperate for touch as she felt Rosmerta's soft hair glide down her body.

Her fingers twisted in the sheets at the first feel of Rosmerta's tongue between her thighs, the touch of it so light Narcissa had to restrain herself from grabbing the woman's head and pushing it forward. She fought to hold her hips down, the warmth inside her rising to a painful throb, desperate to be filled. She didn't know how this sort of thing was supposed to work, and she didn't care – all she knew was what the spell compelled her to do, and feel. Safe in the knowledge that her actions were not her own, she grasped the other woman's wrist and pushed her hand down.

"Inside me," she begged, collapsing into the instant sensation of Rosmerta's fingers sliding into her as the woman's tongue continued to work at her, tracing an intricate circle. Her mind went blank as her body surrendered, sparking in places she didn't even know about.

Lucius wasn't like this; Lucius pounded into her hard and deep, holding himself at arms' length from her and squeezing his eyes closed, lost in his own pleasure. His tongue never reduced her to a quaking mess; his fingers, his _cock_, never twisted inside her, stroking long and slow until she convulsed with pleasure, her thighs trembling and her hand over her mouth to mask her cries.

Rosmerta shifted back up beside her and cradled her, sweeping strands of hair from Narcissa's face and smiling at her with reddened lips. When Narcissa had caught her breath, she reached for Rosmerta and kissed her, pulling her down hard and parting her lips. Rosmerta responded with patient need, tangling her tongue with Narcissa's and letting their lips brush softly before deepening the kiss.

It was _soft_, so soft, that was the only word for kissing Rosmerta. Narcissa was no longer at the mercy of a man's strong jaw and insistent tongue; Rosmerta kissed like a rose petal, not the thorn, and Narcissa let the warmth of their mouths together fill her with the unfamiliar and very welcome feeling of _happiness_.

The kisses continued as Rosmerta gently took one of Narcissa's hands, guiding it down her body until Narcissa felt warmth and wetness, and she _pushed_, desperate to touch as she had been touched, absorbing the other woman's moans into her mouth as her fingers sank deeper. When Rosmerta cried out against her and clutched at Narcissa's wrist, shudders wracking her body, Narcissa closed her eyes and smiled, a real smile, one she hadn't felt on her lips in years.

~~~~~

The morning was cool and damp when Narcissa awoke. There was no sunlight streaming in the windows, nor the smell of brewing tea wafting in from the hall – nothing like at home, where the house-elves knew exactly how she liked to wake up. Her usual routine most certainly never involved waking up naked and alone in a strange bed.

"I don't do breakfast," a voice declared, and Narcissa propped herself up on one elbow, clutching the sheets to her chest with her free hand and squinting towards the bedroom door.

"I– don't want breakfast," she muttered. "Where are my robes – look, I really must–"

"Go, yes, I know that. They're still on the floor." Rosmerta looked different in the morning, older and wearier, her blouse cut higher and her heels set lower. If she had appeared predatory the night before, all flirty lashes and soft cleavage, she only seemed lost now, as though her best memories were white strands locked in phials on someone else's shelves. "I'm sorry," she whispered after a pause.

Narcissa was at a loss. "I– you forced me." The feel of Rosmerta's skin under her touch flooded her senses again and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

"Desire's a strange thing, isn't it?" replied Rosmerta sadly. "There's no forcing what one wants."

"I didn't want that." Narcissa wished she could sink through the bed and into her own, as far away from this place, and this woman, as possible. She lifted her chin instead, determined to preserve her dignity in the face of this abominable situation. "I trust no one will ever hear about this?" she said, tilting her head to the side. "I have very powerful lawyers at my disposal, you know."

Rosmerta laughed at that, deep and sudden. "Lawyers!" She shook her head in wonder. "I have no doubt that you do. We'd better keep it just between us then, I suppose." She smiled, then moved cautiously over to the bed and perched on the edge. One hand rose to caress Narcissa's cheek, brushing the hair off her brow. "So beautiful," she murmured, and Narcissa closed her eyes again.

The heat of the spell thrummed in her veins again, she could feel it, without Rosmerta even uttering the word. _Imperius_. She panicked. _I will always belong to her_.

"I have to go," said Rosmerta suddenly, rising from the bed again. "I have to– shopping." A confused look crossed her face. "There's shopping I need to do."

Narcissa's eyes widened. "Has my son been here?" she asked, her fingers beginning to ache from coiling so tightly in the sheets.

"Your son." It wasn't quite a question. "Yes. This morning. Downstairs. He–" She paused, thinking. "Wanted something. To use the loo, I think." She relaxed again and smiled at Narcissa, the pained look disappearing. "Don't worry, love, I'm quite sure he wouldn't have suspected his mother was naked in my bed."

Narcissa shivered at the words, her eyes downcast. "That's not what I meant," she whispered.

"What's that?"

Narcissa shook her head.

"Well, you can stay if you wish." Rosmerta grabbed a cloak from the closet. "But I doubt you do." She pulled the garment around her shoulders and fastened the clasp at her neck, then paused at the door. "Come back," she said quietly. "Whenever you want – will you?"

Narcissa shook her head again. "No."

The cloak made a sound like a disappointed sigh as it swirled at the door, its sad cadence lingering over the room. Narcissa rose, dressed, and quietly left, wondering how on earth Rosmerta could be under the influence of the curse, while simultaneously casting it on another. Surely Draco had not instructed the woman to do _this?_ Surely the Dark Lord had not instructed Draco to –

She stumbled on the sidewalk, her stomach churning. _Oh, sweet Merlin, no_.

~~~~~

But she returned.

It wasn't the next night, or the one after that, but before long, Narcissa returned to that seedy bar, cloaked and shaking and desperate for her dreams of Rosmerta to be fulfilled, to feel that shameless woman's hands on her body again. It was humiliating, unbearable, illogical, but the power of the spell lingered over her day and night. Rosmerta haunted her thoughts and visions, sweeping images alive in her head of the two of them writhing against the sheets as Narcissa collapsed in breathless shudders.

"Take the spell off," she begged, her fingers clutching the edge of the bar as she leaned forward, her lips barely moving.

Rosmerta gazed at her for a long moment before speaking. "I can't," she said at last.

"What do you mean, you _can't?"_ Narcissa's eyes widened. "Do you know who I am? I'll have this place shut down!" Her voice rose. "I'll have you arrested – sent to Azkaban! You cannot go around using Unforgivable curses!"

"Shh." Rosmerta looked annoyed, glancing around the pub. "I can go around doing as I damned well please, and so can you, because that's what grown-ups do, Mrs. _Malfoy_."

The venom in the woman's tone stung Narcissa like a whip. "I beg your pardon?"

Rosmerta leaned forward across the bar, her blouse falling low again. "Tell me, love," she murmured, "has your husband ever made love to you the way I did?"

Narcissa felt the blood drain from her face. "How dare–"

"Answer me."

Cotton filled her lungs. Why was breath always so difficult around this woman? Lucius had never done those things to her, never touched her with such reverence, never spent _hours_ ministering to every inch of her body as though pleasure had no end. His tongue wasn't light at her breast; his bare legs weren't silky against her own; his fingers weren't that slender and delicate when they slid inside her. "Of course he hasn't," she whispered. "You know that."

"Good. That makes you mine."

Narcissa swallowed hard as the insinuating voice began again in the back of her head, urging her to submit. "Yours," she began, then stopped. "No. It's impossible."

"It's very possible. You don't appear to be fighting it very hard." Rosmerta's sneaky grin finally unravelled Narcissa.

"And neither do you!" she shrieked, before glancing around the pub and clapping her mouth shut. "You, of _all_ people, should know what it's like," she continued in a low but angry voice. "How hard it is to resist."

Rosmerta stared at her.

"Did he tell you to do this to me?" she rushed on, her brain whirring. "Is this his revenge on Lucius – whoring his wife out to women, to _barmaids?"_

The stunned look on Rosmerta's face quickly morphed into fury as she stalked out from behind the bar and grabbed Narcissa's arm, hauling her towards the staircase and up to the living quarters above the bar. She shoved Narcissa into the bedroom and slammed the door shut, whirling on her with blazing eyes. "What did you call me?" she demanded, her voice shaking.

"What – barmaid?" Narcissa mocked. "Or _whore?_" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I called you_ both_."

"I'm not the one who went to bed with a perfect stranger one night while my husband rotted in jail," Rosmerta shot back, "all because of _one word_."

"That word is everything!"

"That word is _nothing_." Rosmerta slammed her fist into the wall. "You took your clothes off at the merest _glance_ from me and spread your legs – and you think _one word_ had anything to do with it?"

"You should be in Azkaban," Narcissa insisted. "It's illegal, what you're doing."

Rosmerta stared at her, jaw dropped. "I should–" She squeezed her eyes closed for a second. "You're not listening to me, are you? You just don't want to hear it, so you won't listen. You won't listen to your own body, or your own mind." Her chest heaved and her face flamed as she stepped towards Narcissa. "I've watched you for years, Narcissa," she said, her voice crumbling and she raised a hand to Narcissa's face. "I've watched you keep that corsetted bloody gallantry at every event, while your husband was off doing god knows what with god knows who. Now he's finally gone, and you're finally free, and you just–" She sighed, dropping her hand. "You won't let go."

"I love my husband."

"No, you don't. It's not out of loyalty to him that you won't let go; it's out of fear of yourself."

"Well, don't you just have all the answers," Narcissa sneered.

Rosmerta grabbed her shoulders, pushing her back towards the bed. "You don't think you're supposed to want me, so you won't let yourself," she said furiously. "Tell me you don't want me!"

Narcissa fell to her back with the other woman straddling her waist, holding down her struggling arms. "I don't! I don't want anything to do with you!" Her head thrashed against the pillow as she tried to throw the woman off, the fog swelling in her mind.

"Then this is the only way," Rosmerta insisted, grasping Narcissa's chin between her fingers and thumb and forcing eye contact. "_Imperio!"_ she declared.

Her eyes didn't snap shut fast enough, and Narcissa immediately felt the slick shadow of desire pulse through her, Rosmerta's breath hot in her ear.

"It's just a word," Rosmerta whispered. "It's me you want – admit you want me."

"I want you," gasped Narcissa as a light touch brushed against her breast. "_Now_, please, I want you."

But tears stained Rosmerta's face when she pulled her head back from where she had been ghosting kisses along Narcissa's neck. "You stupid woman," she whispered, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Why can't you see…"

Narcissa couldn't answer, the soft sweep of the spell pulling her down as she tore at Rosmerta's buttons, flinging her blouse open and her brassiere aside, then lowering her mouth around a dark nipple, moaning with pleasure as Rosmerta collapsed in her arms.

~~~~~

Every time was sweeter, somehow. Making love to that woman on a bruised mattress in a bedroom over a stale pub went against everything Narcissa had been taught to love in the world – chilled white wine, silk pillows, the scent of lavender in the air, and a strong man hovering over her, pushing inside her. But every time she came to Rosmerta, she forgot all those other things, never even thought about the ways she used to want those other things. All she knew was the power of the curse, and the desperate need she felt to cover Rosmerta in kisses and lower her onto the bed to ride out the rest of the night against her lover's warm skin.

The incident with the Bell girl rattled her; Narcissa couldn't pretend otherwise. Despite being Gryffindors, the Bells were a good family. Narcissa remembered playing dolls with Mundita Bell as a girl, long before Slytherin, and Lucius, and the war.

Rosmerta shook in her arms the next night, having read about Katie in the papers. "That poor girl. That _poor girl!"_ she sobbed. "This stupid fucking war! Why do I–" She raised her palm to her forehead, pressing hard. "I feel like I want to help, to change something, but I can't. I don't know how."

"You're doing quite enough," Narcissa murmured. "You're doing your part."

Rosmerta looked up. "What?"

"There's a lot more evil in you than you give yourself credit for, isn't there?"

But Rosmerta never seemed to understand, never admitted that their ordeal was shared – that they were both bound by the same spell. She never admitted it, and Narcissa could never quite bring herself to press the issue, not when those light fingers snaked up her spine and curved around her neck, pulling her in close as her lover's lips brushed against her own.

Narcissa kept coming back, night after night, month after month, as seasons passed and the cool breeze of autumn turned to snowflakes, then into warm spring sunshine. The curse remained static, though, and Narcissa remained unable to say no every time that sweet word was whispered in her ear.

"_Imperio_," was all she heard, each and every time, and she fell, over and over again, submitting to the touch of this woman – the only lover, the only _person_ who had ever made her feel so alive.

~~~~~

That night in June stabbed them both in the heart – short, perfunctory wounds that stung like ice and bled like water. Rosmerta had been more insistent that night, almost fiery in her demands for Narcissa's submission.

_What had Draco done now?_ Narcissa hadn't been told of any new plan, but that wasn't unusual; Draco and the Dark Lord alike had long since stopped informing her of their every move. Bella remained enraged at her sister's deal with Severus, and _Severus_… well. Either out of his own apprehension, or his fear that he would not in fact be able to save Draco, Severus had not contacted her since that terrible night in August.

Narcissa didn't know if Draco had done anything specific to Rosmerta lately, but he must have. She wasn't herself; her softness had ebbed away, replaced by a gleaming edginess whispering quick demands as Narcissa's clothes pooled on the floor.

"On your back," Rosmerta demanded, watching from across the room. "Yes, like that. No – wait. Flip over. On your hands and knees."

Narcissa frowned. She wanted her lover in the bed, now, caressing her and whispering softly in her ear – not barking orders from the door. She didn't turn over.

"_Imperio!_" shrieked Rosmerta. "Imperio, Imperio – fucking _Imperio!_" She threw herself onto the bed and tried to bind Narcissa's hands, but suddenly, without knowing why, Narcissa's mind felt clear.

_But why?_ a voice whispered in her head. _Why turn over? Why do what she asks?_ "Stop it," she ground out, struggling against the other woman. After a moment she gave in, collapsing against the sheets, limp as a doll, and Rosmerta stopped moving, hovering over her. "Stop saying it," she begged. "Just kiss me – come here, I'll do what you want, you know I will…" The familiar fog of desire clouded her mind again, but it felt different this time, neither weaker nor stronger, but simply altered, as though it had been turned sideways and poured over her from a teapot without a spout.

Rosmerta gazed at her, long hair falling gently over her shoulders as she pushed her blouse down and paused to slip her skirt off. "Turn over," she whispered again, gently this time, and Narcissa felt herself acquiesce.

She rose to her hands and knees as Rosmerta fell across her back, warm comfort seeping through her skin as she felt her lover's breasts against her shoulder blades. Rosmerta's hands snaked around Narcissa's body, one tight around her waist while the other dipped between her legs from behind, stroking cautiously at first, then harder and with greater urgency.

Narcissa moaned and dropped her head, pushing back to meet Rosmerta's hand as it slid inside her. It didn't matter that she shouldn't want this. She _did_ want it, she couldn't deny that anymore. Why bother trying to resist that spell? She came with a shattered cry, grinding against Rosmerta.

Falling to the bed and slowly rolling on to her back, she watched with wide eyes as Rosmerta moved her hand from Narcissa's body to her own, kneeling and stroking herself with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Narcissa gazed at her lover with wonder as Rosmerta unravelled, her body trembling as she came, then collapsing beside Narcissa on the bed.

It was several minutes before either of them noticed the sickly green light ghosting through the window, shrouding the room in a rotted glow.

"Stay," Rosmerta murmured into her neck. "Just always – will you? I know you won't. I just want you to _stay_."

"It's cold," whispered Narcissa, pulling her lover closer. "And dark – why is it so dark?" When there was no reply, she opened her eyes. Rosmerta's gaze was darting around the room, her eyes wide as she sat bolt upright. She snatched her dressing gown from the floor and rushed to the window, her knees giving way as she reached it.

"_No_," she cried, covering her mouth.

Narcissa sat up, her heart racing. "What is it?" She couldn't make her legs move. Draco, all she could think about was Draco.

"Hogwarts," whispered Rosmerta, her face white against the moonlight. "The _Mark_."

The Mark. The _Mark_. Narcissa froze.

"What have you done to those children?" cried Rosmerta all of a sudden, cowering against the window and turning to point an accusing finger at Narcissa. "You _monster_! You and your Death Eaters – dear god, how did I ever believe you were different?" She sagged against the pane of glass.

"Me?" Narcissa's eyes blazed. "If anything's happened at that school, it's _your_ fault, not mine!" Her lungs weren't working again, her heart clenched in fear. _Draco_.

"Get out of here!" Rosmerta flung a finger towards the door. "Go off to your revel – it's the blood of _children_ on your hands!"

"Rosmerta!" the name startled Narcissa even as it escaped her lips. "Listen to me–"

But Rosmerta had turned back to the window, gazing down at the street. "Albus," she whispered to herself. "Sweet Merlin help us – Albus is here." She pulled her dressing gown closed and shoved her feet into a pair of slippers, then strode towards the door. She opened it and paused, then turned back to face the bed. The green breath haunting the room made her high cheekbones look hollow, her lips pale and her skin dull. "I loved you, you know," she said quietly, not meeting Narcissa's eyes. "You won't believe that, but there it is." She took a deep breath. "You have to go now."

With that, Narcissa heard her run downstairs and out to the street, calling to someone in a panicked voice. _"I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn't think what to–"_

Narcissa was careful to stay clear of the window as she rose, her whole body shaking, and dressed herself. Her mind burned with images of her son, dead on the highest tower at Hogwarts as the Dark Lord stalked through the castle, wreaking vengeance on those who had failed him. Yet she knew she couldn't risk going to the school herself, no matter what danger Draco might be in. That thought made her weep, as she crept out of the pub and hid in the shadows of the back alley, gathering her wits about her to Apparate.

_Draco, Draco, Draco_.

The letter was waiting for her when she arrived home.

~~~~~

_It's happening tonight, Mother – everything is in order. I did it! Nobody thought I could, not even you, but I have. The Dark Lord shall reward me, and you too, Mother. We will both be back in his good graces after tonight, I promise. _

I've placed the last spell on that bar wench. She has one task left to do, and then maybe I'll consider giving her back her wand. Or not – what do you think? That Muggle-lover has already been a Squib all year because of me – maybe she should spend the rest of her life like that? Gave her the wand back for one day so she could get the necklace to Hogwarts, and she nearly ruined everything with that botched spell on Katie, didn't she? Idiot. Women like her are a disgrace to the Wizarding World, just like you always said – no husband and no children! Some Pureblood she is. No, I think I should just snap that wand of hers in half and be done with it.

Must go; the Owlery is not always safe. Whatever happens tonight, Mother, know that I love you, and if you speak to Father, tell him that I shall make him proud.

Your son,   
Draco

Narcissa gazed at the letter in paralysed disbelief, her chest leaden and her stomach in knots. _Draco!_ she wanted to scream. _Where are you?_

What was this plan of his? She needed to talk to him, call someone, _do something_. Go back to the school, that was it. Rosmerta – who had she been talking to on the street earlier? Were they at the school now? _Where was Draco?_ Severus would help if Draco was injured… wouldn't he? Narcissa's head spun as she tried to make sense of the letter. After several deep breaths, trying to keep her hands from shaking so much, she reread it. The second time the words struck her even deeper, like a lash across her body. She forgot to breathe.

_A Squib_. No, it wasn't possible – she had cast the spell, Narcissa _knew_ she had. She had felt it to her very core, a confusion and haziness that allowed her only to _feel_, not to think, and the things she had felt while under that spell…

Her head fell forward in her hands at the kitchen table, and she let out a pained moan. _That spell, that spell…_ Memories assaulted her as the tears streamed down her face: Rosmerta's lips curved in a sultry smile; her tongue lapping at Narcissa's navel, then lower; her fingers, one, two, three, _oh god_, four… _four_… Narcissa's heart beating wildly as she clutched her lover's wrist, urging her on… so full… need more, _please, love, more_.

When the hand had finally folded inside her, Narcissa had cried out, her body on fire and her mind buzzing with desire and pleasure and disbelief, and then it _moved_… slowly, rocking inside her deeper than any man ever could. Narcissa opened her eyes to find Rosmerta watching her intently, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"All right, love?" she had whispered, and Narcissa had only been able to nod and weep her assent, pushing her hips up to increase the pleasure/pain. When she felt Rosmerta's other hand against her, Narcissa went blank, thinking only that she finally knew what love was, what desire was, what _lovemaking_ was, because she never wanted this to end, and she never, _ever_ wanted to let this astonishing woman out of her sight, or her bed.

Her orgasm had built slowly, steadily, like a wave that begins as a ripple, so far from shore that it can't even be seen. As her lover's hands worked her mercilessly, one stroking her and the other pushing languidly inside her, buried to the wrist and somehow still not enough, Narcissa had felt the wave approach her from her toes, the backs of her knees, the inside of her thighs.

"Don't stop," she managed, squeezing her eyes closed and letting sensation overtake her, wave after wave crashing to shore and exploding in her veins. Her head had thrashed against the pillows as she cried out her release, clutching at Rosmerta's arms to still her movements, willing her to just _stay with me, don't move_, as the pulses wracked her body.

_Memories_.

She raised her head now at her kitchen table, trembling from head to toe as she reread Draco's letter. Not a spell. Not a spell. _Not a spell_.

~~~~~

The streets of Hogsmeade were a wasteland that summer, dry as dust and deserted as an old ghost town. Everyone heard what had happened at the Three Broomsticks, where the Malfoy boy had succeeded in bringing Rosmerta under the control of the Dark Lord; everyone heard, and everyone fled. Only the rustling of the leaves on lonely trees announced Narcissa's presence as she walked like the head of a funeral procession down the lane, hood pulled over her head, retracing the steps she had walked so many times over the past eight months.

She didn't know her own body anymore; it had betrayed her. It was as traitorous as her husband, her sister, and her son, demanding things of her she was not prepared to give – things that had too high a price. For all her cooperation with Draco and the Dark Lord's plan, she had lost him. He was Merlin knew where now, in a dirty cave with Severus for all she knew – or worse. The Ministry would never let Lucius out, not with Draco wanted as well, and Bella was useless to her. She had lost everyone, even –

The hot dust steamed up from the pavement as she wandered, one foot dragging in front of the other towards that filthy bar. It would be boarded up; she had read the papers. Rosmerta was in the Ministry's protection. But something compelled Narcissa to return, to check, to make sure.

_I miss her_.

She sniffed in disgust with herself and wiped her face, staining her tailored robes with black tears as she quickened her step.

_Desire's a strange thing, isn't it? There's no forcing what one wants_.

The shuttered windows rose before her and she paused, staring at the building with eyes of stone and a heart to match. It was so simple. The Imperius curse was more dangerous than any of the others because it preyed on weakness, vulnerability, and _need_. No one could resist it, because no one wanted to. There was power in submission, and freedom in the inability to make one's own decisions. Blissful surrender – _that_ was Imperius. Rosmerta had known that Narcissa would not submit any other way, and in the end, that freedom had become as addictive as a drug, triggered in her brain and body by Rosmerta's mere presence.

Ghost hands glided over her skin as she walked on, hood low and eyes on the ground, footsteps sliding as though on ice across the lane. Hands on her body, in her hair, caressing her back, her hips, her thighs; a soft mouth on hers, gently parting her lips and seeking solace in the slow sweep of her tongue; soft flesh against hers, pulsing like a heartbeat under her touch. The spell had been entirely of her own making.

She rounded the corner of the lane and disappeared, leaving only a lonely leaf in her wake, dancing across her path as a soft breeze washed over the town.

_Blissful surrender_.

 

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> _"I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn't think what to–"_. Exact quotation taken from J.K. Rowling, _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_, UK edition, 542. No copyright infringement is intended.


End file.
